WHEN THE LIMIT CAME OFF.
The shouts of the startled crowd in front of Turner’s grocery had
brought those within the store rushing out to learn the cause of
alarm. The governor came with them, followed a second later by the
young man who had been tossed by Libby’s bull. They beheld the motor
car well under way, and the judge struggling frantically and
ineffectually to restrain it.
“Great guns!” groaned the governor, turning pale. “Wiggin’s started
the demonstration on his own hook. He’ll smash a
four-thousand-dollar car and his neck at the same time!”
The young man with the bandaged head stiffened. If he felt weak or
dizzy at that moment, he flung it off instantly. With a single bound
he was at the foot of the store steps, against which leaned a
bicycle, left there temporarily by some one. He grabbed the bicycle,
uttering a ringing shout for everybody to get out of the way.
Through the scattered crowd he dashed, leaping to the saddle and
catching the pedals with his nimble feet. Bending over the
handlebars, he started in pursuit of the automobile, which, by this
time, was halfway down the hill, with the wailing siren in full
blast.
Continuing to jabber and shout, the crowd followed, stringing out in
a straggling line. Boys and younger men were in the lead.
Middle-aged, bewhiskered, bald-headed men came next. The rear guard
was made up of the aged and decrepit; the very last one of all, bent
with rheumatism, and hobbling with the aid of two canes, being
Zebediah Titcomb, the sage of Greenbush.
Never since its foundation had the sleepy town of Greenbush beheld
such a spectacle. Never in its history had there been such
tremendous excitement within its boundaries. The end of all things
terrestrial could scarcely have created a greater hullabaloo in that
torpid community.
The young man on the bicycle was not able to overtake the runaway
motor car before it reached the bridge, but he was not far behind
it. When the automobile smashed through the railing and leaped into
the river, he jumped from the bicycle and followed it without the
slightest hesitation.
He was an excellent swimmer, and, rising from the plunge, he saw the
head of Nathan Wiggin bob to the surface within reach of his arm.
Immediately he fastened a hand on the man’s collar.
“Keep still! Stop thrashing,” he said, “and I’ll get you out.”
The somewhat difficult task of rescuing Judge Wiggin from drowning
was accomplished, while the panting throng that had reached the
bridge looked on and cheered. Reaching shallow water, the young man
assisted the judge to his feet, and both waded forth to dry land.
Arriving on shore, the older man immediately sat down facing the
river, beneath the sluggish surface of which Governor Bradley’s
automobile lay immersed. After a few choking gulps, he began to
speak in accents and words of the utmost self-contempt.
“Nate Wiggin,” he said, addressing himself, “you’ve lived to be
fifty-four year old, and arrived at the conclusion that there wasn’t
anything that traveled on legs or wheels that you couldn’t handle.
Which goes to show that when a man thinks he knows all there is to
know about anything a shrinkage has set in about half an inch
beneath the roots of his hair. A wise fool is about as safe to have
round as a stick of dynamite bakin’ in the oven of a red-hot stove.
If he don’t damage nobody else, he’s pretty likely to blow up and
bust himself.”
The governor and his secretary, followed by a few others, came
hurrying to the spot. Seeing them approach, the judge got upon his
feet, dripping tiny rivulets.
“Governor,” he observed, “there’s no great loss without some small
gain. You’ll save the price of a wash for that there automobile.
Whatever damage or expense may accrue I ca’late I’ll have to
sustain. I guess we can find a way to get her out.”
“I’m thankful,” said Governor Bradley, “that you were not killed.”
“I don’t see why that should choke you with joy. In your place I’d
prob’ly be so blazin’ mad I’d start in to murder somebody.”
His eyes streaming and his nose snuffling, Weeping Buzzell broke in:
“Obadiah Cobb has come along with his hoss and wagon. He’s right
there at the end of the bridge, and he’ll take ye home, jedge. You
better git outer them wet clothes it you don’t want to ketch your
everlarsting.”
“I’m no wetter’n this young feller who yanked me outer the drink,”
said the judge. “He’s got to come along to the house with me and get
fixed up. And you, too, governor, and t’other gentleman—you come; I
insist on it. You’re going to stop with me, the whole caboodle of
ye, to supper. Hosspitality deferred may be hosspitality soured, but
I’ll guarantee to do my best to sweeten it up on this occasion.”
By this time it seemed that by far the greater portion of the
inhabitants of the town were packed upon the bridge or jamming the
roadway. And when Obadiah Cobb took the governor, the judge, and the
other two men into his double seater and started back up the hill
with them, the crowd laughed and cheered again.
“Governor,” said Judge Wiggin, “I dunno whether that’s meant for you
or for the young man who hauled me out of the stream, but either way
it’s proper well deserved. If you hadn’t been dead game, you’d have
kicked like a steer over what’s happened, and if he wasn’t good grit
to the bone he’d never have gone into the river arter me. Which is
admittin’ I made a mistake in sizing him up when I found my darter
making a touse over him.”
Among the few villagers who remained unaware of the recent lively
events were Judge Wiggin’s sister and his daughter. Of course they
were thrown into a great flutter. Miss Sally said: “My stars!” What
Miss Bessie said was whispered into the ear of the water-soaked but
smiling young man, who gave her a look and a sly squeeze of the hand
that brought a rosy flush to her cheeks.
Dry clothes were found; also “a little nip of something to parry off
chills.” Warming up, the participants in the adventure joked and
laughed, even though the judge seemed to have something on his mind
that was giving him some serious thought. What this was appeared
later after they had partaken of a genuine old-fashioned New England
supper, topped off with doughnuts and hot apple pie and steaming,
fragrant coffee.
Turning his eyes to the governor, who sat at the right of Miss
Sally, Nathan Wiggin said: “Governor, putting aside the question of
damages I owe on account of what happened to your automobile,
ca’late it’s up to me to express my appreciation of whut you done to
induce Ephraim Glover to take back and give me a clear field. With a
clear start, I reckon I can carry this deestrict, and help you to
carry the county. Anyhow, I’m going to lay myself out to do it.”
“That sounds good to me,” laughed the governor.
“Furthermore,” pursued the host, “I’ve decided to abolish the
trapping of automobile drivers in this here town. Mebbe,” he
admitted, “this may appear a leetle dite selfish on my part as,
havin’ got my dander up by the pranks played on me by that there gas
go-cart of yourn, governor, I’m contemplating buying one myself and
running the consarned cantraption until I git it tamed. If there was
traps hereabouts, mebbe I’d git took up and have to fine myself for
busting the speed limit. Therefore, henceforth there ain’t going to
be no speed limit in Greenbush.”
Beneath the edge of the table, old Shep, attempting to lick Bessie’s
hand with his tongue, licked also the hand of the young man who sat
beside her. And before sitting down, the young people had found an
opportunity, quite unobserved, to exchange a few words in private.
Somehow neither of them had evinced any great desire for food, but
while George was still unnaturally pale, the roses continued to
bloom in Bessie’s cheeks.
Now George spoke up boldly: “As long as you have abolished the speed
limit, Judge Wiggin, I am going to improve the occasion to ask you
for your daughter’s hand in marriage. Doubtless it will seem rather
hasty to you, but everything has moved with a rush this afternoon. I
have put the question to Bessie, and won her consent.”
The governor stared. Miss Nancy nearly fainted. Bessie Wiggin
trembled visibly. Nathan P. Wiggin gazed hard at the young man for
about thirty seconds, and then scratched his chin, a queer pucker
screwing up his face.
“Wull, I declare!” said the judge at last. “That is going some!
Never quite reckoned on my darter hookin’ up with a shuffer, but,
having saved me from drownding, you’ve took me at a disadvantage. If
Bessie has said yes, and you kin furnish the proper creedenshuls
I’ll have to take your proposition under consideration, I guess.”
The governor looked Bessie Wiggin over appraisingly, and decided
that he had made no mistake in thinking her an unusually pretty and
charming young lady.
“It is sudden,” he said, laughing softly, “and it would not have
happened if George had not offered to drive for me to-day, my
regular chauffeur being ill. In the way of credentials, judge, let
me state that he is my son.”
The judge’s sister sat bolt upright in a jiffy. The judge coughed
behind his hand, the pucker crinkling the corners of his eyes.
“Them creedenshuls, governor,” he stated, “are wholly satisfactory
to me.” His whole body seemed to shake oddly. “I’m afraid I’m going
to have a chill, after all,” he added. “I think the governor and me
had better take a little walk in the moonlight.”
THE END
[Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the May 1, 1915 issue
of the _Top Notch_ magazine published by Street & Smith Company.]